The return journey
A map of India was pinned to the wall in the inner room.
A man in his forties sat behind the desk, his white shirt stretched round over his bulging belly, his hair combed to an oily shine.
The envelope on the desk had already been opened, revealing Franklin's portrait inside.
He looked at Aditya first, then Mary, before finally settling his gaze on Aditya.
"What is it?" he asked in Hindi.
Aditya pointed at Mary and answered, "She needs to visit family in India. It's rather urgent, so we'd like your help to see if it can be done a little faster."
The man flipped through the passport, glanced at Mary, and asked, "Israeli?"
"Yes," Mary said.
"Who are you visiting in India?"
"My father." Mary paused before saying, "He's seriously ill."
The man looked at Aditya again. "Who are you to her?"
Aditya said, "Her father is a friend of an elder in my family. I came specifically to take her to India."
Aditya took out the company letter and sponsorship documents he had prepared beforehand and laid them neatly in a row on the desk.
The official swept his gaze over them without examining the documents. "You'll have to wait. Ten days for standard processing, five working days even if it's expedited."
Aditya added, "Her father's in Varanasi. The doctor says he won't last that long. Her mother just passed away, and she's their only child. Please, do us a favor."
Mary sat beside him without speaking. She wore sunglasses, hiding her eyes. Although she couldn't understand him, she knew Aditya was pleading with someone on her behalf.
The man slowly picked up the envelope and put it in a drawer. "Let's expedite it, then. Fill out the form."
Aditya took the form and filled it out item by item, while Mary only had to sign her name beside him.
Once he finished, Aditya handed the form over.
The official glanced at it. "Go back and wait. Come pick it up in three days."
Aditya asked, "Could it be any faster?"
The man smiled. "The day after tomorrow is fine too, but we'd have to process it as express today. As for the fee, well..."
"I understand, I understand." Aditya took another envelope from his leather bag and handed it over.
"Haha, just come collect the visa the day after tomorrow." The official felt the envelope's thickness between his fingers and smiled.
Indians really do get things done once they take your money! The Indian consulate is so far from India itself, yet it still runs on the same logic.
The way that money had been spent was really, well...
So fucking worth it, Aditya thought.
Fortunately, Aditya now had money, status, and a reason.
Just look at how good, how wonderful this Indian logic was-so good that Aditya almost felt wronged on behalf of the people queuing outside.
But that was how the world had always been, and Aditya had long since grown used to it.
After they came out of the inner room, Mary asked, "What were you and that official saying just now? I couldn't understand a word."
"I said I knew the Indian prime minister and told him to expedite it for me," Aditya said.
"You know the Indian prime minister?"
"Just kidding. I bribed him, so he expedited it for you," Aditya said with a smile.
Mary fell silent, and the two left the consulate.
The sun was already high overhead. A glance at the time showed it was noon.
After walking for a while, Mary turned to look at Aditya through her sunglasses and said:
"I didn't bring that many shekels. I'll pay you back when we get back."
"No need," Aditya said. "It all came from your father."
Mary said, "He's him, and I'm me."
"Then do me a favor," Aditya said.
"What favor?" Mary asked.
"I want to buy some gifts for my family," Aditya said. "You've lived here for so many years. Take me shopping for some local specialties."
"Sure!" Mary took off her sunglasses and answered with a smile.
This was the first time Aditya had seen Mary smile. Those golden-green eyes were very bright.
Mary took Aditya to an old shopping street in the west of the city.
The street was narrow, lined on both sides with little shops selling silverware, shawls, wood carvings, and old books.
Aditya and Mary entered a small shop selling scarves, and Mary chatted with the owner in Hebrew.
When they came out, Aditya had three scarves in his hands: one blue, one red, and one pink.
They walked for a while and saw a little boy by the roadside shining a customer's leather shoes, applying polish with practiced skill.
Mary took out a few coins, bent down, and put them in the little box beside the boy.
The boy looked up happily and shouted something in English.
Aditya heard him clearly and gave Mary an odd look.
Mary's earlobes reddened, and she averted her gaze rather than meet Aditya's eyes.
What the boy had said was, "Beautiful miss, may you and your husband enjoy a happy life together."
Mary wanted to explain, yet seemed to feel there was no need.
Aditya thought that shoeshine boys all over the world were good lads.
He immediately tossed a US dollar bill into the little box.
"Ah! Handsome sir, what a perfect match you and this beautiful lady make!"
Mary was furious. She stamped her foot and hurried forward without a word.
Aditya chased after her, laughing heartily.
When they returned to Mary's home that evening, Aisi had prepared a lavish table of food, perhaps because they were about to part.
Aditya ate with great relish this time, getting two more helpings of rice during the meal. Mary pulled Aisi over to eat with them. She ate very slowly, her eyes moist.
After dinner, Aditya told Mary, "Once we get the visa the day after tomorrow, I'll buy the plane tickets. We'll take the same route I took coming here: Tel Aviv to Dubai, then on to Mumbai. Once we reach Mumbai, we'll take a train to Varanasi. Your father can still wait these few days."
Mary nodded. "Okay."
The night in Tel Aviv was dark and quiet.
Aditya lay in bed with his eyes closed, listening to the sea breeze outside pushing at the orange tree by the entrance.
In his dreams, he and Mary summoned the wind and rain in Mumbai's financial world, succeeding wherever they went.
The next day, the visa came through.
Aditya wasted no time. He took Mary to collect the visa, then booked their flights.
Tel Aviv to Dubai, then on to Mumbai. He personally watched the ticket agent issue their two tickets together, then asked about the departure times, confirming that their transfer in Dubai wouldn't keep them running around too late.
That evening, Aditya packed his things in his room. He had just one suitcase and a few changes of clothes; as usual, he kept his leather bag close to him.
Aisi knocked and came in, carrying a glass of hot milk.
"Thank you." Aditya took it and had a sip.
Early on the third morning, before dawn.
Aditya went downstairs and saw Mary already sitting in the living room. She had changed into a neat outfit, a green vest with blue jeans, and her brown hair was tied in a ponytail. A suitcase stood beside her.
Aisi was still busy in the kitchen, preparing one last breakfast for them.
"All packed?" Aditya asked.
"Yes." Mary nodded.
"Passport, visa, plane tickets-don't forget them."
"You're younger than me, so why are you just like my mother? You nag so much!"
Mary spoke with a smile, lifting a small leather bag and waving it at him.
Aditya couldn't help laughing. He picked up his teacup and took a sip of water to hide his embarrassment.
After breakfast, the taxi arrived.
Aisi walked them to the door, holding Mary's hand as she spoke for a while.
Aditya couldn't understand, but he saw Mary nod, then shake her head.
At last, Aisi let go and looked toward Aditya. "Look after her on the way. She hasn't traveled far from home much."
Aditya said, "Don't worry. I will."
Aisi watched them for a while, nodded, and said softly, "May God bless you both."
Aditya loaded the luggage into the car.
Before getting in, Mary suddenly turned back and hugged Aisi.
Aisi patted her back, murmuring something under her breath.
The driver didn't hurry them. Aditya sat in the front passenger seat, closed the door, and looked into the rearview mirror.
Mary let go of Aisi and walked over with her head lowered. The door closed, and the taxi slowly pulled away from the grayish-white little building.